


Hashtag

by Emelye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fault you know, is yours.</p>
<p>It simply must be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hashtag

Your skin crawls as he traces the line of your too prominent clavicle, your ribs, your iliac crest. 

“You’re so _skinny_ , Sherlock.”

You tense, waiting.

“Don’t look like that, you know I love it. I love skinny boys. You’re perfect. You’re my ideal. It’s like you were made for me.”

The way he cups your arse feels possessive. He digs fingers into the hard muscle and it hurts. It’s meant to feel sexy, you’re sure. You’ve seen similar moves in dozens of the pornos he has you watch with him. Somewhere, deep inside you know there’s something wrong with you that you don’t find it arousing in the slightest. You feel _claimed_ , but it doesn’t feel lovely like the erotic novels you secretly read in the back of bookstores says it should. Victor’s eyes are on fire. They look hungry, grasping, like when he sees those skinny boys getting thrown around and fucked on the TV in your dorm room. He’s staring at your arse. Part of you wishes you could simply hand it to him for his pleasure and walk away, so engrossed is he. You don’t like this kind of looking, this cut-up feeling, reduced to a sum of parts. 

You snort, try to make light. “I’m glad you enjoy it. I daresay no one else has much use for it.”

Victor looks at you then. “Well _I_ do. I mean, sure, you’re a bit scrawny, but it doesn’t matter because you’re with me and _I_ like it, even if no one else does.

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. You know he’s right. No one else would look twice at you. You tell yourself to be grateful you don’t have to be alone. How many nights did you long for someone to hold you? To tell you you were something special. That you weren’t a freak, after all. Now you have it and you’re upset because he wants you too much? _Idiot_.

You remember the boys in the videos. You try for a coy look over your shoulder at him, and it seems to have the desired effect because in moments, you’re on your front, two fingers deep in your arse and your knuckles are white where they grip the sheets of the bed. It burns. 

“Maybe a bit more lube?” You ask.

He lets out a frustrated sigh then grudgingly adds a bit more. You finally begin to loosen up but then he’s sticking his cock in. You can’t help but let out a small whimper of pain.

His hand slides cursorily over your spine. “Yeah, that’s right, big innit? Shh, don’t worry, you’ll get used to it in a minute. Give it a moment.”

He didn’t lube his cock. “Could you maybe put a bit more lube on?” You ask. 

He huffs, then thrusts in a bit roughly. “You always want so much lube, I’m not going to be able to feel anything at this rate. Can’t you just give it a minute? So damned impatient all the time.” He punctuates each sentence with another thrust. “Yeah, that’s it. _God_ , this feels so good.”

A tear slips down your face and you’re glad he can’t see it. _God_ , the _row_ it’d cause, crying during sex. You just want it over with now. It hurts, and you’re not even close to hard. You moan a few times, trying to mimic the boys in the videos. 

“Yeah, that’s it. You like it just fine now, don’t you?” Victor croons.

You moan in response. You feel like throwing up. 

Finally his thrusts start to speed up. Your arse feels like it’s splitting in two. You know you’re going to be bleeding for a few days. “Ugh, Ungh, _Ungh_ ,” you grunt in time with his thrusts. Finally he stills inside you, his pubes irritating the split skin of your perineum as he ejaculates.

You school your face into something approaching fondness and gratitude. You remember the last time you didn’t appear to enjoy sex. You can feel the words he said imprinted on your skin. _Retarded. Neutered. Cocktease. Psycho_. You smile benignly at him as he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead.

You sigh a bit and ignore the sweat chafing between your bodies. He didn’t like it when you tried pulling a sheet between you either. 

But this is it, isn’t it? This is the good part, the settled, happy part of the relationship that everyone strives for. At long last, there’s a boy in your bed. He thinks you’re attractive and he’s holding you. You matter to him. You matter to someone. You matter.

And what’s fifteen minutes of discomfort to the significance of that?

“I love you,” you whisper into his shoulder with intent.

“I love you, too,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Somehow, even your love declarations feel at cross purposes. The fault you know, is yours.

It simply must be.


End file.
